From these ten books alone, anyone might conclude that “we” have a lot of antiques and tigers, typewriters and troubled sisters, and that we all wear sandals with socks in Canada. (I am not a fan: if it’s cold enough for socks, it’s too cold for sandals.) Moving from
I can’t tell whether I enjoyed “Airborne” for its own sake—hanging out with these older women who’ve been friends for so long—or because it resonated so strongly for me with the new memoir by her longtime friend, Canadian writer Susan Swan, which I read this summer, Big Girls Don’t
We have spent three-quarters of this hefty novel in the company of Iris, inhabiting her orbit as she navigates her memories. Even the disruptive excerpts from Laura’s novel feel familiar now. We’ve grown comfortable with those two unnamed lovers, and the ceaseless shift of settings (always a new rented
It’s been a quiet week for MARMers, with the rush of Week One behind us and the seemingly possibility-soaked remaining weeks in November awaiting, although Andrew has posted about Cat’s Eye (1988). He also included two early MARM links at the end, so you can also read about Bill’s
In which I read two more books with #NovNov in mind, hosted by Rebecca and Cathy: one gentle epistolary immersion into an artist’s rediscovery of light, and the other a back-and-forth contemplation of past-and-present through eighteen short chapters about a surprisingly-Clark-Blais-ish writer. Dorothy Livesay (1909-1996) began writing The Husband
